Frost and Flames
by Passionworks
Summary: "Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy, or opposing passion. Each strives to be the other, and both together make up one whole," says Samuel Taylor Coleridge. -Sokkla100 Challenge-
1. 001: Roses

**Author's Note: I've been a member of FFN here for quite some time now, and on many occasions, I have stumbled across my fair share of LJ community challenges –many variations of this one being perhaps the most frequent (and interesting). Due to my style being as it is, I seriously doubt any of my attempts will be drabbles; most will follow one-shot lines, probably. We'll see, though. Well, actually this first one is drabble-sized, but I can't say the next ninety-nine will be.**

**For now, I am probably going to hold off any attempts to finish or update any of my other fics; I want to become one of the lucky few authors that actually make it to finishing this challenge. It is my new point of honor –wish me luck, Sokkla shippers!**

**Oh, Dixie, you made me do this too! Just so you know…**

Frost and Flames

By: Passionworks

…

001: Roses

…

The rose is a mystical flower, blooming at just the peak of the Fire Nation's summer season. Their petals are like little red insignias, flags of the country's allegiance. Their thorns are challenging symbols that mark risk and peril, the certainty of danger –the thrill it brings to the holder. The bloom itself is the greatest embodiment of romance, for love is worth every possibility of doom.

But only fools offer flowers to the healing princess.

"Oh, Azula," calls the gaunt nurse who watches over her during the day, "he's sent another batch. He must really like you."

"It's folly, Nurse," a snappy Azula angrily answers back. "The man is just Zuko's Water Tribe ambassador –he's only out to make himself look good in the court."

The nurse shakes her head and hauls the bouquet, cradling it in her arm like a child. She lays it on the raven-haired princess' lap, smiling. "They say a man who is truly in love is willing to wait for the roses to bloom."

"Well, Uncle tells me that flowers belong to the earth." Azula picks up the mass of blooms and sets them on a nearby table. "From that, I'd say that picking them shows a man is only willing to steal from the land to harvest his own selfish interests."

"Why are you such a critical girl, Azula?"

Princess Azula sends a sly glare, her eyebrows furrowing. Her teeth clench. "Nurse, of what good would it be for me to be romantically inclined to someone of a different nationality? Besides, my purpose as the Fire Nation Princess is to marry a wealthy man's son, not a peasant who dwells in an igloo."

"He's a political ambassador –"

"A Water Tribesman, Nurse. Nothing more."

The nurse sighs in her loss. There is no swaying the girl's deranged mind once it is already set.

"Still," she says, "you should be thankful that he is thinking of you, wishing you well. Read this card he sent you."

Azula ignores this, sending a dismissive palm to her chin. "His sister is the sole reason I am locked away in this mental institution. Why should I further affiliate myself with my enemy?"

"But," the nurse interjects, "the war is over. The nations are no longer divided."

"If that was true, I wouldn't be in here right now. I would be pardoned for my crimes; you know this to be accurate, Nurse."

"Come now. Just read the card."

"I refuse." She yawns, her spine cracking audibly as she goes about stretching herself. "I am tired, Nurse. Be off with you; I need to rest."

"Yes, yes, Princess. I'll set the card here, in case you change your mind."

"Let it collect dust then."

The elderly nurse bows and exits, letting the door close slowly behind her.

Looking about the room in a curious manner, the princess seizes her opportunity and snatches the roses and the card from their resting place. She opens the parchment and reads it aloud –quietly, though, so the fair nurse cannot hear her.

But the nurse just discreetly watches from the door's small, rectangular screen. She beams warmly. How wonderful, she thinks, to see the princess finally open up her heart…


	2. 002: December

**Author's Note: I'm going to try to publish these inserts as fast as humanly possible for me. Maybe one a day, two a day, one every two days… I don't know. I'll probably end up slacking, but, please, send reviews and critiques. This whole collection is my first crack at Sokkla, so if I'm doing something wrong, don't be afraid to let me know. I'm always open for improvement.**

**Here's number two! And it is yet another drabble. Two in a row. Perhaps I can do this after all…**

**I hope you all get what I'm suggesting. Azula's poking fun at Water Tribe tradition. She notices that the Southern tribe is small with small numbers. The princess has found herself a solution, basically.**

…

002: December

…

The cold winter wind howls manically; those who walk about during this storm are mad, it seems to say as frozen raindrops dribble from the colorless sky.

Tribal warrior, Sokka holds his hand out, letting his glove catch the straying flakes. The specks remain on the material, whitening it like an animal's winter coat. Azula simply stares out at the scene, her arms tightly crossed against her chest. This is her first sighting of snow; she is only mildly amused by it, only because she is aware that she can melt some of it if she so wishes.

She exhales, and a plume of blue flames exits her equally blue lips. "Sokka, couldn't we have chosen a better time to visit the Southern Water Tribe? It's the peak of the winter season."

Sokka's arm encases her shoulders. He pulls the princess' windswept hair from her face, revealing her disenchanted eyes.

"You said you wanted to see snow, Princess," he says lightheartedly, closing his eyes in a mocking manner. "It just so happens that this is the best time for snow showers."

Azula brushes his arm off of her, squeezing his wrist tightly as she goes about doing so. She squints, looking off into the blank distance. "There is nothing to see for miles ahead, nothing but white, anyway."

"We Water Tribesmen happen to like the color white."

"In the Fire Nation, it is the color of mourning." She states this cynically as she dips her chin into the furred neck of her coat, shivering outwardly.

"Funny, it's considered a symbol of purity everywhere else."

"It isn't pure," she retorts, feeling the ice-cold snowflakes peck at her cheeks. "Does snow not kill the trees, freeze the grass?"

"Not here. We hardly have trees. And we don't have a lick of grass, either. You can't just _say_ that white isn't pure. I mean, to be born during the peak of winter is considered fortunate in the Water Tribes, just like being born at the peak of summer is providential to those in the Fire Nation."

"I suppose, but I can't imagine your children even surviving in this weather."

"Katara was born on the day of the winter solstice. She survived. So have many others."

"Is that why she's a bender and you're not?"

"It plays a role, yes."

"And she's the _only _waterbender in your tribe, not that that's significant, considering that there aren't many members here," Azula muses, flashing an oddly seductive smile. "You know what that tells me?"

Sokka detects sarcasm in her voice. He matches it. "What, Princess?"

"You all should have your babies in the summertime. Chances are, they'll survive longer."


	3. 003: Desert

**Author's Note: Whoa, I am already on number three. I never thought I would get this far in such short time… Nah, I'm just joking. Making it to three has been a breeze. Why didn't I ever decide to do this sooner? Even so, I apologize for the wait. I got *in a whisper* _grounded._ Don't ask.**

**Well, I failed to make this a drabble. It exceeded a thousand words. Oh, well, I tried, at least…**

**Oh, another pointer. This piece serves as a reminder that Zhao burned down every record Wan Shi Tong had of the Fire Nation. Azula is the first to give him the opportunity to replenish what he lost. Azula is also OOC, I realize, but there is no changing that now.**

**Enjoy.**

…

003: Desert

…

Wan Shi Tong's talons click across the higher floors of his massive library. He contemplates to himself, watching as the foxes store new scrolls on the hefty shelves. It hits him: it has been five years since the war's end, since the high lord of the Fire Nation declared it finally over. The knowledge spirit had hid himself during its remainder underneath the sandy desert, hid his information from the greedy humans. But he waited longer, fearing it would spark again. He knew even then that it wouldn't, though, but he was fooled once. He has vowed ever since to never let it happen again.

Now, as he gallantly strides across the many levels of his treasured building, he awaits the new generation. He awaits the introduction of a new purpose for his knowledge. Every scroll, every parchment, every sheet of paper that laces his walls, will once again serve to guide the human race, lead them to assisting their own kind, not conquering them. He can sense the day coming, senses it at the very crown of his conscience.

The spiritual owl swivels his head, seeing a rope dangling behind him. It has only been hanging briefly –he is aware of this. He follows the fine material up to its top; two figures are holding on to it for dear life, readying themselves for a long descent. They are only shadows to him, but he can clearly make out that one is female; she is curvier in frame and has hair flowing down her back. She slides down first, her knuckles whitening as she tightens her grip on the rope. Her feet reach the floor, creating a momentary tapping noise. Before her partner can emerge, Wan Shi Tong faces the woman. Seeing him, she tugs the line, silently telling her cohort to hurry on down. Answering to her request, the other figure makes a somewhat pitchy entry down the cord.

This one is male. And Wan Shi Tong recognizes him.

"Foolish human," he states in his booming tone. "I remember you, Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. The not-so-bright one."

"Sokka," the woman calls in a whisper, "who is this?"

Sokka clenches his teeth. His hand nervously rests at the strap of the bag he is carrying.

"I am Wan Shi Tong," the owl spirit answers for Sokka, "he who knows ten thousand things. And you must be the dethroned princess of the Fire Nation, Princess Azula."

Azula is taken aback. Her eyes widen. "How do you know who I am?"

"He's the knowledge spirit, Azula," Sokka replies. "He pretty much knows everything."

Wan Shi Tong rolls his depthless black eyes. He waves an accusatory wing at the Water Tribesman, giving him an equally accusatory look to go with it. "Perhaps you have gained just a pinch of intelligence since we last met. What are you here for? Considering your histories, I might have to see the two of you leave."

"Please, great spirit," the male draped in blue pleas, "hear us out."

"Who are you out to conquer? To outmaneuver? To fool?"

"Uh, no one." He scratches the back of his neck. His brow is beginning to moisten. "It's just that…"

"Hurry on, fool," the spirit interrupts. "I need to make my rounds."

"You have opened this library back up to the public because you no longer believe us humans will tamper with knowledge, right?" Azula asks, suddenly finding herself in the lead position.

"Indeed. Your point?"

Sokka perks up. "Azula and I wish to offer you new additions into your collection."

"Let it not be another knot –that barely counted as knowledge."

"No," the man laughs, "no knots. And how does something _barely count _as knowledge anyway? I mean –"

"Never mind. Just show me what you have and be on your way."

"Yes, well…" He swallows. "I have come to return the knowledge I stole during the war."

_So, he has come to pay his dues,_ thinks Wan Shi Tong.

"You finally saw the error in your ways, human?"

"Yes. I wish to return everything, and not allow the information to be utilized for improper purposes."

"You think you are you bright enough to fool me?"

"He is not fooling you," Azula lashes out, stepping forward. She raises her head, her eyes steady and intense. "Take the information he offers you."

"It was not _his_ to take in the first place, Princess." Wan Shi Tong heaves his crow-like feathers, placing a sort of physical enunciation onto his statement.

"Knowledge is knowledge," states the Fire Nation Princess, "no matter where it derives from. Someone of your stature should appreciate that."

Silence. Agonizing silence ensues. Sokka, apparently out of the conversation, whistles, his icy irises almost bulging from their sockets. He is impressed.

Wan Shi Tong is as well. "Well, Princess Azula, you have convinced me. Hand me the scrolls, Water Tribesman."

The tribal warrior extends his hands, holding a mass of scrolls and parchments. The knowledge spirit tucks them under his wing, ready to hand them off to his trusty foxes. Three emerge, as if on cue, and the owl hands the papers off without saying a word.

He turns.

"And what might you offer me, Princess?"

Azula at first ignores him. "Hand me the bag, Sokka."

Sokka slowly pulls the sack off of his neck, heaving it over his head and swiftly casting it in the firebender's direction. She catches it, rummaging through it until she discovers what she is searching for.

"I'm waiting, Princess."

The woman sighs, and sets herself on her knees. She too extends her hands forward, holding out a poorly bound book.

"This is a diary I kept during my stay in the institution. My only hope is that those who read it learn from my mistakes. Please take what is to be the first piece of text that enters your records of the Fire Nation."

Wan Shi Tong draws his arm forward, masking the book and slipping it beneath his feathers.

Now begins the restoration…


	4. 004: Gold

**Author's Note: It seems I have managed to write four of these now. And I'm still enjoying it. I'm happy with all the reviews, favorites, and subscriptions! Keep them coming, guys!**

**I based this one off 'The Chase,' where Zuko, Iroh, and the Aang Gang trap Azula. I am depicting what is considered Sokka and Azula's first close-up meeting.**

…

004: Gold

…

It is those shimmering eyes of hers that ensnare him first: those gold, confident orbs that gleam and glisten in the natural sunlight.

Princess Azula is trapped –cornered like prey being observed through the barrel of a gun –but, yet, her eyes display nothing but self-assurance. She is poised, smiling, staring nobly his way as he finds himself blinded by her unquestionable attractiveness.

Oh, but this girl is far too distant and cold to be his type. The princess is his opponent, a worthy adversary, no less.

But those eyes… How they shimmer before him. The perfection in their shape reminds him of gold coins, though far more beautiful –far more natural, really, like sculptures conceived by an angel's fine and steady hand. Every inch of her seems molded from flawless clay, like she was born from genes without fault.

Azula suddenly turns from him, giving her disgruntled brother a nasty look. Then, her eyes are his again. She smiles once more, flashing her fang-like canine teeth like gems. Holding this gesture causes her to elevate her chin, placing light upon her cheekbones. Her complexion is rosy; she is blushing –or, perhaps it is the sun, Sokka wonders, but he inwardly wishes that it is not.

He frowns now as she wanders for the last time. She faces forward, her smile still intact.

"Well, look at this." Azula says, her voice dripping like honey. Sokka is hypnotized by it, his countenance revealing a smile of its own. The rest of his crew is focused on her as well –good thing too; if Aang or Katara caught him suggestively eyeballing the enemy, the tribesman would never hear the end of it.

She continues, "Enemies and traitors, all working together."

The Fire Nation Princess is the picture of insensitivity. Her words are defiant, somewhat blunt, but all the more entrancing. Sokka ignores her implications of belittlement, despite his position.

Suddenly, Azula raises her arms like a white flag, making it clear that she is all set to surrender. "I'm done. I know when I'm beaten…"

Her spiel continues on almost without him being aware of it; it just seems that every word literally slithers from her tongue and cuts his sense of hearing right off.

"…A princess surrenders with _honor,_" she calls at last.

All is still. The evening sunset reddens the sky directly above her, and it further promotes her golden eyes. Highlights give each one a liquefied look, like they are reflections seen within the depths of a clear blue sea.

Without even a second of physical preparation on her behalf, she outstretches her fingers, sending an azure blast of flames in the direction of her aged uncle. Sokka almost forgot that the man was even present to begin with, to be honest.

And without as much as a single thought to back up his actions, he sends his boomerang in her direction as a shield of fire coats her entirely.

An explosion marks the finality of the clash that has just ensued. Once the sparks fade, clouds of smoke like revealing arrows swirl about.

There is not one sign that the princess had even stood upon this ground. And Sokka curses himself.

He has been deceived by nothing more than Fool's Gold.


	5. 005: Tapestry

**Author's Note: Number five is now in completion, and it is my favorite. I think I am moving at a fine pace, if I do say so myself!**

**Oh, Dixie, I utilized your concept of Sokka being the Southern Water Tribe Chieftain, and because of that, I kindly dedicate this one to you! Not only that, it is your birthday (well, it was)! Happy nineteenth! So, everyone, please wish my wonderful friend, Dixie (Pulchra-16) a great, wonderful, and happy birthday!**

**Here's something for the rest of you readers out there: I may begin taking requests. I'll post the Sokkla100 list on my profile so you all can give me some insight. Now, that doesn't mean I'll willingly take every single one I get, but do not let that damper your spirits. Please, out of courtesy, do not send requests for some of the latter words; stick with the ones closely in range. For now, keep it between 006 and 010. That would really help! And for the sake of a challenge, I ask that you don't send me pre-made plots; give me the basics and let me work them out for myself. I do not much like constriction. Thanks, guys!**

**So, Dixie, you're special! Since you're one of the best buddies I have on here (you **_**are**_** the best, actually), you don't need to send me a request to earn a dedication! Even so, if you have any ideas, I'll consider them too! Happy birthday again!**

**I think this insert has more complicated symbolism. The tapestry represents Azula's parallel to her baby –how they are one in the same, in essence.**

**Enough of my ranting. Enjoy the definitely-not-a-drabble before you all! Five down, ninety-five to go!**

…

005: Tapestry

…

Stratus clouds stretch and expand across the lowest point on the horizon like a curtain ready to sheathe the setting sun. The sky is painted a royal blue, but splashes of red here and there soften the color to a rather majestic purple.

Purple. A spontaneous blending of two nations by the bond of marriage.

This sight is just slightly blocked out by the imposing trees of the Fire Nation's royal garden, but through their shadowy trunks, the wife of the Southern Water Tribe's chieftain can make out the very best of it. Azula lets the cool wind of the new night tickle her soft skin like a lover's tender hand; she savors nature's affection, closing her eyes and smiling beautifully, feeling those last few rays shine down on her before they disappear like a candle blown out by a temperate breath.

The evening's hue slowly begins to blacken right before the Fire Nation royal's eyes. Azula frowns now; she is somewhat depressed to see the daylight leave her for another sector of the earth. But the nighttime is soothing, she realizes at once. The sound of crickets chirping their love songs resonates and filters through her ears; the melody of leaves bustling against elongated tree branches echoes; the instrumental of the garden's trickling pond beckons the tired woman to rest.

Behind her, Azula hears the distant sound of her husband entering the grand room. She turns, finding just his inquisitive head peeking through the doorway. Her first instinct is to glance deeply into his eyes. Even from a distance, the tribal chieftain's icy, sapphire orbs have that way of capturing her, sending her right off her feet. Every look he sends can bend her down; ease her into submission without question. Yet, he is never demanding, never threatening, never unkind.

Sokka enters fully; he has a gold-laced tray in his grasp. The glass of water Azula requested earlier this evening sits atop it like an offering; a surprise pastry dish is next to it. He, in jovial strides, makes his way to the window, his left side brushing against her right.

He hands her the glass of water. "I requested that the servants give you something to eat before you go nodding off. Cravings, you know?"

"Sokka," Azula answers with a courteous smile, patting his shoulder with her right hand, "I'm just weeks pregnant –cravings haven't even kicked in yet."

"Hey, it's the thought that counts, right?" He has a dashing grin. Just the very corner of his lip is upturned.

She invites herself to those lips. "Right."

The wind grows harsher outside, howling like the lone wolf that strays itself from the pack. Its unpleasantly chilly breath is a warning, signaling the possibility an unforgiving night in the coming hours.

Azula shivers. Seeing this, Sokka sets the tray on the sill and extends his hand forward to close the window. It snaps itself closed with a squeak. Grabbing the tray once again, he leads his wife to their king-sized bed, where he pulls down her side of the sheet and waits for her to lie down.

"How is political life faring for you, dear?" she inquires once the two of them are set under the covers. Azula is well aware of the intricacies that Fire Nation politics entail, since much of her formative years had been spent in the court –alongside her father.

"It's been better than I expected, really," he responds, stealing the pastry from the dish and sneaking a bite off of it. Azula prepares to give him a nasty look but instead sends a kind, permissive grin his way, silently informing him that she was not hungry for the treat anyway. "Zuko, Aang, and I have been centering much of our time on the reconstruction of Ba Sing Se. The Council of Five has been working alongside us around the clock. We've made some progress, rallied some volunteers. You know, the usual. But it is an enjoyable duty, being the Water Tribes' representative."

"Yes," Azula replies with a mesmerized sigh, as if his words are all she can focus on. Freeing herself from this said focus, she sets a discreet hand over her flat stomach, where the new life is just beginning inside her. It astonishes her as to how connected she already is to this being. It is unexplainable. The unification such an attachment draws forth is enough to pull her into a trance.

"Azula?" Sokka questions, raising a peculiar brow in his wife's direction.

"Oh, I apologize. I was just…" she states, absentmindedly playing with a single strand of her black tresses, "thinking."

"About what?"

"The baby." Straying from Sokka's gaze, she again resumes staring longingly at her abdomen.

"Oh." He frowns. "Well, I know it probably seems rather sudden –"

"No, I'm happy with it."

Yes, happy. That is just what she is. Happy, though she thinks it is much more than simple _happiness_ that she is experiencing. She wishes she could discover some sort of parallel to explain it. To make this new incident easier to comprehend.

"Well," Sokka says, interrupting Azula's current thought, "I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow –I'm sailing for Ba Sing Se in the morning."

Oh, yes, she remembers her husband informing her of this. He will be gone for a month; it shames her to think that he would put the world before his unborn baby. Azula exhales. Now she thinks herself selfish.

Swaying emotions –is this a hidden symptom of becoming a new mother? She is unsure.

"Goodnight." He pulls the sheet to his shoulder and turns to his side, his back facing her.

Azula gives him a secretive glance, but an interested one, like she wishes he would lie in the opposite direction. His position almost breathes rejection, like the word itself just bounces from the silk sheet and lands upon his skin.

"Goodnight."

The Southern Water Tribesman's snores are already reverberating off the walls of the room. Azula is alone in her state of wakefulness. Abandoned to nothing but solitude. However, she distracts herself, looking about her surroundings. The walls are black to her left, where her husband is. A candle illuminates her side; she blows it out, and all color fades before her like a curtain that shields the back portion of a stage. In the darkness, she looks toward the window. Near it hangs a divinely woven tapestry of the four nations, all adorned in their specialized colors. Yet, covered by the dimness of nighttime, they appear the exact same hue, like they blend, mesh together, and become one…

Directing a striking smile at no one in particular –her baby, maybe –Azula turns over, drapes her arm over Sokka's side, and closes her eyes.


	6. 006: Opaque

**Author's Note: I already had some sort of idea where I was going with this chapter, so no requests… However, 007 through 010 are still open to the public.**

**Opaque is defined as being unable to see through something, so, the walls of a prison cell symbolize such a definition perfectly. Also, I am implying that the place is relatively soundproof. In case there is confusion, I hope that clears it.**

**Happy readings!**

…

006: Opaque

…

The walls all around her are crumbling; bits and pieces collapse from the ceiling every so often. Pellets of varying sizes plummet like bullets and make impact with her pale skin. Even within the compounds of miserable dilapidation, she dares not flinch, dares not to move a muscle. She just stares into her corner blankly; her whites bloodshot and veined like sharp fissures.

She rarely sleeps, though she is visibly fatigued. How do her keepers expect her to sleep, anyway? She is confounded to this damp little hellhole without a blanket or a pillow to lull her into her dreams. She is a zombie, living about her days, with the stresses of insomnia, stuck in her designated corner.

As of lately, she has been hearing a voice. Not her mother's usual condescending tone, not Zuko's, not the Water Tribe bitch's. No, it is another voice. It is a nicer one, softer, but steady; it is one without mocking undertones or prodding remarks.

She rather enjoys this accent, but it saddens her to no end that she cannot respond, reciprocate, or reply. Her tongue is tied; she goes unvoiced, though her head bounces with words.

No, it is not her silence that cripples her here. It is her greatest wish to see this voice's maker. She recognizes it, but cannot place it.

Or, rather, she can, but she fears turning around. She fears this one will hightail it and run if she does.

Abandon her…

Just like the rest of them.

…

It has been two years.

She is growing thinner by the day, he notes; her spine is rippling through her ragged shirt like the arched backbone of a defensive feline. He spends a good three hours of his day gazing at her back, staring along the protruding line of vertebrae. It is all of her that she exposes to him, like she is afraid to reveal her face. He has heard rumors of mutilation, like she has succumbed to slashing her cheeks with her nails until she bleeds and tastes metal on her tongue, but he doubts the certainty behind such twisted tales. He ignores the implications of her insanity; he prefers to deem her perfectly sane, even if he knows otherwise.

She is just lonely; that is all she is. Lonely, neglected, and discarded.

That is just what he tells himself.

He takes a gamble, and opens his mouth. "Azula, I know it seems that everyone has forgotten you, but that isn't true. I haven't forgotten you; can't you see that?"

He has told her this before –many times has he informed her of this, actually –but every time he does he places himself at risk. Just speaking to the deranged princess alone is dangerous.

She does not answer, though –she is quiet. She eyes her wall endlessly, letting what he has said sink in. Her body language indicates to him that she is shutting out every angle of kindness the statement implies; kindness is too indulgent of an emotion –she does not favor it at all.

Or, at least, that is what she believes. Maybe.

"Azula, please," he persists, his voice stoic now, "Zuko only wishes the best for you; I, the same."

She tenses, holding her breath. She renders herself stiff. He can tell she has quite a bit to say on the subject of Zuko's benevolence, but like a mute, she keeps these opinions bottled up.

"We've been sending my nation's best healers to coax you out of this. You don't have to be alone anymore."

He swallows. "Let me in; let _someone _in. Please. Let me help you. I want to."

…

His voice cracked, did it not? Yes, she heard it. It cracked like fragile glass; cracked like a fragile heart.

She heard it well enough, but she did not see it. And she wants to see it. See his face.

Slowly, very slowly, she turns her head, her matted black hair flailing onto her shoulders.

A sigh falls from her lips. There is nothing. No one. Not a soul.

She did not hear –and she will never see…

The walls might crackle and the foundation may erode, but the structure stays intact. It is unbreakable, impenetrable.

Opaque.


	7. 007: Russet

**Author's Note: Oh, I apologize for being so epically late with this piece! I really have no excuse except laziness…**

**Again, no requests. I'm just writing these up as I think of them –faster than the reviews come in… Heck, since no one seems to be taking note of the offer, I might as well disable it… No requests mean no dedications. Sorry, guys…**

**Oh, since '005: Tapestry' was liked for linking Azula to motherhood, I have decided to continue on with it. I will also delve into it when '022: Father' and '031: Mother' come around. But those will have to wait.**

**Here's the thing, I have no idea how old Sokka and Katara were when Kya died, so I'm going to assume their ages in this one.**

…

007: Russet

…

Princess Azula's flowing maternity gown is a faded shade of russet, the color of blood left to dry. Once upon a time, this robe was her mother's; it is one of the many pieces of her she had left behind after her banishment. It is made of a billowy material that is soft against Azula's pale skin, despite visible wearing.

Every fold envelops her perfectly.

Like she is a living replica of Ursa.

But Ursa no longer exists, the princess is afraid. And the loneliness irks her.

Azula discreetly squeezes her eyelids shut. Her arms cross under her breasts, hands delicately teasing the sleeve of the russet gown. She bites her lip, holds back her emotions, though they are wetly tugging the very corners of her eyes. The expectant mother gives in to her temptations, and the tears slither down her crumbling visage, stopping deftly at her rosy cheekbones. A quivering finger wipes them away, the water leaving a glassy, paint-like streak –a shaken painter's mistake.

Through her tears, she sees that the dawn is breaking; she watches it outside as it rips out of the darkness like a babe escaping a womb. It is a hopeless aspiration of hers to somehow start over, roll back the sundial and emerge anew; embracing the mother she misses so dearly.

Rebirth is what she begs for, but it is an impossible request.

"It's been ten years since my mother left," she states –almost in a hushed whisper –to her husband, Sokka, the Water Tribal representative in Zuko's court, who has been sitting atop their bed, staring intently at a parchment scroll his father sent him from his homeland in the Southern Water Tribe. He looks up from the letter, nodding his head understandingly.

"My mother died ten years ago."

"Really?" She had been unaware of this.

"Yeah," Sokka answers, his eyes wandering to his wife's swollen abdomen. "Katara was really close to her."

"Zuko was the one that was close to Ursa. It shames me to think that there was once a time when I despised her."

"You miss her now, don't you?"

"Yes." Azula massages her stomach, her gaze focused on the floor below her feet. "I just wish that I could, in some way, tell her how foolish I was then."

Sokka rises. "You want to know something? I can't picture my mother's face anymore. It's like she has been replaced by someone else."

"Who?"

The Water Tribesman sighs, sending a depressive look Azula's way. "Katara. She took on so much responsibility in the light of Mom's death that she sort of just became her in my mind. I can't picture her face anymore. Katara's is all I see."

Tired of standing, Azula sits on the bed, resting her right arm against a fluffed pillow. "I don't think I'll ever forget my mother. You see this gown? Ursa wore it when she was pregnant with me…

"Sometimes it makes me feel like we're connected, like she's that distinct part of me that has never left."


	8. 008: Ink

**Author's Note: Since I wasted so much time with number seven, I'm going to try and move as quickly as I can with the next few. If I manage to slip again, please don't feel like I've given up on this challenge. I **_**am **_**going to finish it, even if it takes a long, long while.**

**And, of course, I have slipped from schedule again… My excuse: I'm entering a Sokkla contest on deviantArt!**

**As for this one, I have continued the well-liked pre-parenthood theme…**

…

008: Ink

…

Sokka concentrates on the canvas like it is something he interrogates, bleeds answers from. It is blank now, but he can just imagine the image it should capture.

That said image sets itself right in front of him like a brilliant stroke of inspiration.

Lifting up his brush, he dips it into a cup of black ink, hesitantly waiting for the moment when he shall add color to his work of art.

Pressing the very tip of the brush onto the parchment-like material, Sokka swiftly outlines his muse. Like a secret suddenly being revealed, every inch of her becomes known. Once the ink sketch is finished, he rinses the paintbrush and sends it swimming into another color, crimson.

His muse is wearing a fine silk robe of this color, but he realizes that the paint needs mixing to achieve the perfect shade. Adding black in select increments, the Water Tribesman lathers the body of his piece with the new color. He hand is swift with an air of experience and practice. He certainly has practiced this art form. He took it to heart after Master Piandao introduced it to him. The aged swordsman called it a craft of unity, making one become whole with his environment.

Sokka beams at what is becoming of his work. His smile is wide and full of sustained happiness as he moves on to the details of his muse's beautifully pale face. Her expression is set forward; her gaze is upon a pool in the garden of the Fire Nation palace. Those eyes of hers sparkle in the sun like gemstones examined by only the most natural of light. And that raven hair. She is a gorgeous siren under his precise eye.

And it is the painter's sole purpose to capture every distinct detail.

Moving along, he slowly piles on layers, placing shading and highlights wherever they are necessary.

…

"Look, Azula, I'm done."

Rising from the grass and dusting herself off a bit, Azula stridently marches toward her husband. She sees that he is beaming; she understands that he has been practicing with the brush for some time (he must be proud of his work, or he is proud of her for being his patient muse –she's usually not in the mood to sit for hours, especially when she's in the delicate condition).

"Well, let me see it, Sokka," she begs, eager to see how the Water Tribesman incorporated her into his style.

"I think you're really going to like it," he says, his smile stretching impossibly.

"Let me be the judge of that, honey."

Deliberately, he reveals the painting to her.

And in doing so, the focal point becomes clear.

"Sokka, did you really have to make me look like I'm nine months pregnant? Look at me. My stomach isn't even swollen yet."

His arms cross. "Azula, have you ever heard of a little thing called _artistic freedom?_"


	9. 009: Foreign

**Author's Note: I'm horrible, always slacking… So, anyway, here's number nine. As for this one, you have to admit, you all should have saw it coming… *winks***

…

009: Foreign

…

The jail hall is rancid, boiling and bubbling with varying scents of body odor and fluids of every type imaginable.

Sokka holds his breath, his teeth clenching inside his mouth. His expression stiffens like a cadaver, his face curving into an angry grimace. He rightfully questions himself: _why do I bother with such a fruitless task when I already know of its outcome?_

But he then assumes reason, finding his actions to be out of protocol, dedication to his future wife.

His wife-to-be is the Fire Princess. It saddens him immediately that his reputation will soon dissipate once the vows are exchanged –but heck, why should he care? The world is no longer endangered. His use as a military representative for the Water Tribes is waning. Really, he should care little.

There is a guard standing by the door holding the chain to a particularly grimy key. He swings the string around impatiently, swirling it around his index finger. A whip-like sound pierces the air; it reminds Sokka of a swift spanking.

"Come on, boy," the guard states sternly as he inserts the key into the lock, "we haven't got all day. Visitation hours with Ozai have already ended."

Sokka states no response, and slips past the guard. He instantly finds himself stuck under Ozai's evil glare. The disgraced Fire Nation lord is draped in prison clothes: there are holes at every angle you look; the neck is torn; the color is like dried blood. The man is no longer that foreboding figure he once was all those years ago.

"A Water Tribesman has come to visit me? You're Zuko's ambassador, aren't you? What is his ploy this time? I have already revealed his mother to him. There is no more I can offer."

"Lord, sir," Sokka starts, his voice hesitant, "this has nothing to do with your son."

"Well, then there should be no reason for you to be here. Leave."

The Water Tribesman holds himself steady; he clenches a fist. "Would you change your mind if I told you that I have come to talk to you about Azula?"

"The guards have informed me that she has been released."

Sokka ignores this. "Ozai, she yearns to marry."

Ozai's eyes brighten as he smiles gallantly. He laughs with a dry cough. "Well, her suitor has been arranged."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. My highest ranked admiral in the navy's son is Azula's suitor. Admiral Chan's boy."

"Is Azula aware of this?"

Smirking, Ozai answers, "I do think we discussed the matter when she turned thirteen."

"Funny, she told me she loves someone else."

A pipe rattles overhead like a cackling bird. The former Phoenix King turns to face it as it dribbles its tainted water down to a previously-formed puddle next to him.

He clears his throat. "Azula loves no one, and she respects my decision to have her marry the Admiral's son."

"She loves _me._" Sokka's arms cross over his muscular chest, his face unveiling a curious grin.

"She does, does she? So, this is what you came to tell me? That my own daughter has fallen head over heels for a foreigner?"

"In this restored world, the nations are no longer divided. I am not seen as a foreigner in the Fire Nation."

"You are seen as a foreigner in _my _eyes."

Ozai lies down on his back, he sets his gaze at the lighted ceiling above him –it is Heaven revealing all the answers he seeks.

But walls impede; they are soundproof. The absolution of solutions never hit him.

"Now, Ozai," Sokka says in a deliberate tone, "I thought that we, as dignified men, could resolve this matter without issue. Out of respect for Fire Nation customs, I will politely ask for your daughter's hand."

"No. Never."

"Why?"

"You know why." He chokes. "I am a racist man. I expect my daughter –a social elite –to marry within her nation, not venture into a country of peasants and thieves. And what of proper breeding? Azula's children will be half-breeds."

"Race should be of little matter when Azula's happiness is in question. If you don't approve of this marriage, then fine. We will marry anyway."

Ozai laughs once, and says finally, "I pray the spirits will curse the both of you then…"


	10. 010: Feathers

**Author's Note: Since I have not encountered any sort of pain from the possible cyst on my ovary for three days now, I might as well get some work done. If the pain does, in fact, return, then you readers won't be hearing from me for a while. **

**Sorry that this one's epically short…**

…

010: Feathers

…

The flying bison is, initially, apprehensive when he first finds himself in the former Fire Princess' presence. His chestnut-colored eyes instantly lock on to her, and he studies her face. Her lightning-like orbs are usually menacing; they typically harbor rage and pain and incomprehension.

But those eyes no longer appear this way. They seem docile, but aged.

He notices that his trusted ally, Sokka is standing next to her; perhaps if Sokka trusts her, he can trust her. But he is anxious as she extends her hand and offers him a moonpeach. She says something to him, in a foreign, human language, but it sounds so… soothing.

He draws a paw foreword.

…

"Here, I'll help you up," Sokka says from the top of Appa's back, holding his hand out to his new girlfriend. She grabs it firmly, and shyly makes her away atop the bison. The height instantly excites her, but she finds herself wrapping her hand around Sokka's long right arm, her cheek brushing up against his.

"Come on. Are you _really_ scared, Azula?" Sokkla playfully asks, his visage unveiling a silly grin. It is that quirky smile where his eyes squint and all his pearly whites reveal themselves.

"No, I'm not," she answers teasingly, laughing to herself. She gives him a debatable look, raising her eyebrows. "So, are you going to make this thing fly, or not?"

"Oh." His cheeks grow red. "Yip-yip."

…

A gust of wind gives headway to the fact that there is a sudden change in altitude as Sokka pulls the sky bison's reins. Grunting, the massive animal grants the Water Tribesman's command, steering his way through a gathering of clouds.

Azula's feathery tresses dance in the wind. Her hair is down this day. She rather prefers the less royal look, as it extenuates her softer features.

Her eyes of molten gold shimmer as the sun's rays hit them just right. She breathes deeply, feeling the massive orb light up her inner fire. It is not long before she catches a look from Sokka, who is examining her joy under his insightful eye.

"You… like flying?" he asks tentatively, not really sure the question will get him anywhere.

"I've ridden my fair share of war balloons and airships," admits Azula, "but the rides were nothing in comparison to this. Before I encountered the Avatar, I had never really believed there were other flying animals in existence, beyond your typical birds, of course."

"Well," says an attentive Sokka, his gaze still glued on the princess, "it just goes to show you that you don't always need feathers to fly."


	11. 011: Innocence

**Author's Note: This was written out of desperation. I'm sure it is a concept that has been covered by many, many Sokkla shippers. What can I say? I've fallen ill with a writer's greatest plague…**

**Ozula reference. I know…**

**Oh, and I forgot to thank everyone for supporting me through the first ten prompts! Your reviews, favorites, subscriptions, and PMs are what keep me going! Thanks so much!**

…

011: Innocence

…

When Sokka was a boy, he collected stones, constructed miniature, harmless weapons, and conjured a make-believe war out of snow and ice. The battles he fought were merely imaginative, meaning that there were no opposing forces in reality. He was lucky to have had sloppy ice sculptures as opponents, for there were no other boys to play with. No boys who wanted to play soldier with him, of course.

But young Sokka did not mind the lack of group involvement, for he had one main objective, and it was to make his father proud. See, Sokka's father, Hakoda was a man who saw battle as an opportunity to gain honor, and it was the desire to gain this honor that inspired Sokka to seek combat.

However limitless the imagination is, it cannot prepare one for the real thing.

And Sokka was not prepared.

Upon that early morning, tattered Water Tribe boats lined the shoreline. The insignia of blue was draped on their sails. This was the hue of a pure nation; a generation of people who had never once saw the spillage of blood and the untimely loss of life. Once upon a time, the Fire Nation had touched these very shores, but, oh, it was so many, many years ago.

Swarming beside these scarred, ice-dodged boats were the men of the tribe, clad in warriors' tusks and painted marks of combat.

Hakoda was among them –and it was Sokka's only wish to join him.

But there are places where some _men _are needed most.

So, on that frost-covered, dim morning, where the icy, cool breath of dawn pollutes the air above the water, young Sokka claimed his destined spot: the border of his homeland.

It was on this day that a boy became a man.

…

Throughout her formative years, it was not uncommon for Princess Azula to say that her mother only cared to properly part ways with Zuko. To say that her mother never offered her one goodbye upon leaving the Fire Nation Royal Palace forever.

But in those days, it was also not uncommon for the princess to weave a web of lies.

So, when that sudden turn of the doorknob woke the slumbering princess, she sat up, her eyes locked on the figure intruding her quarters. In a tiptoeing gait, the figure approached closer, but the face was masked by the blackness of a hood and the shadow of nightfall. The twilight sky was clouded over; stars were forced to hide and the moon was banned from shining.

"Azula, are you awake, dear?"

Ursa was the one here tonight; Azula was clearly able to detect that as the weary mother pulled the hood back and revealed her face. She was frowning, but not in a stern or sinister way.

Azula rubbed her eyes.

"Azula, honey," Ursa said in a quiet but evidently urgent tone. "Listen to me."

She sat at the foot of Azula's bed, holding out her arm and swiftly pulling her daughter close. She ran a hand through Azula's black tresses, pulling the knotted ones away from her eyes.

"Listen," she repeated, "no matter what I have said or done to you, know that I always loved you, and forever will. Remember that, dear. I love you."

Her embrace tightened as a tear fell onto the sheets. Azula, though tired and unaware of what was truly happening, gave Ursa a concerned stare, and rested her head atop her mother's chest, intently following the rhythm of her heartbeat.

"Please, don't let your father take over the good inside you," Ursa then said at once, rising from the bed. "Go back to sleep. I love you."

Like a shadow that blackens to nothing at all, the soon-to-be Firelord's wife disappeared forever.

And the very next day, Azula became a woman, pulled under by her own father…


	12. 012: Wet

**Author's Note: I apologize for the lack of activity! I know, I've been busier than a bee. I've been writing, but have never really had time to finish things. So, hopefully, I can get back into the swing of updating these regularly!**

**This one isn't within the timeline of the others. Just thought I'd make that apparent. Plus, this one is really simple. Oh, well. I'm still trying to get back into the swing of things after my long hiatus.**

**Two in one day! I rock (yeah, right). Thanks again for the reviews, faves, and PMs! You readers are great!**

…

012: Wet

…

Autumn leaves of red and orange clinging to the branches of the tree in the palace garden hold their grip as a steady wind teases them. Few have already descended, landing gently into the pond below. There, they float on their backs like miniature rafts.

A pale but beautiful hand picks one leaf up by its twig and pulls it from the water. Water dribbles down it in the female's grasp. Its back is like a cheek; teardrops simply flow from it. She examines it and soon drops it back into the pond, watching as the slight current sends it off.

She speaks solemnly, "My mother and I used to sit at this pond. We'd talk but never had much to say."

"Why, Azula?" her companion, male, asks. He touches the top of her hand.

"Because," Azula answers, her head dipping low, "I never appreciated my mother. She loved me, that much I knew but could never admit, and I never loved her back."

The companion rests his back against the large tree. Closing his eyes, he replies, "I'm sure you loved her when you were a kid, and I'm sure she knew you did."

"You can't just assume that, Sokka." Azula flips her raven hair behind her back as she says his name in an unmistakably bitter tone. She immediately regrets being so snappy with him; she knows he's simply comforting her.

"Sure I can," Sokka states in a way that suggests that he was unfazed by her manner. "All mothers know their kids love them. You never have to tell them anything."

"And _how _would you know that? Have _you_ ever been a mother before?" Azula giggles at her own joke, eying Sokka's face as his dark cheeks flush to red.

"Come on, Azula," he pleads with a scowl on his face, "be serious."

Defeated, the former princess sighs. "If you insist, but I doubt your assumption still. My mother knew exactly how I felt."

"You want to know something?" Sokka inquires, breaking into Azula's bout of recollection. "Even though I never even had the chance to tell my mom goodbye before she died, I feel, to this day, that she knows I loved her. She sort of taught me to treat every greeting as if they are the last."

"I never had a chance to say goodbye to my mother either. She up and left without ever saying a word as to why."

"But… do you love her?"

"Well…" Azula says, pausing, "I do. Now." She shrugs, looking off at the perfectly trim grass bordering the pond. She hears a small splash as Sokka lets his bare feet fall gently into the cool water. He elicits a tired breath (his way of showing that the conversation is, indeed, over and passed) and further presses his back against the tree. Azula snuggles next to him, allowing his arm to fall over her shoulder.

Another breeze whistles in the background. A couple more leaves fall. The forgotten pond-dwelling turtleducks gather by the leaves collecting, whizzing past them effortlessly. There are three of them: two adults and a baby. The baby is practically squeezed between the adults. The three of them swim closer to the edge of the pond, until…

"Ow!" comes the yelp. A frantic splash follows. Sokka is up in a heartbeat, clutching his now swollen toe.

Azula cannot help but laugh; he did deserve it after all. She offers a falsely affectionate glare, and says, "Now, _that _is what mothers do."

"What? Protect their children?"

"No. They hurt you."


	13. 013: Blood

**Author's Note: Here's to three in a row!**

**This one won't be loving or anything like that. I'm going to be using the common torture-victim tactic. I'm cliché; forgive me. Not really Sokkla, per say, but there has to be a back-story to everything, am I right?**

**I am getting more of these done in a day to "catch up," if you will, since I was gone so long. I may not be able to write any tomorrow, since October 26****th**** is my old dog, Penny's birthday (birthday being the day we found her). Tomorrow will mark the tenth anniversary of her being in our family. We feared she wouldn't make it, since she is dying from congestive heart failure, but she seems to be taking a turn for the better. Thank God for helping her make it through each day. Along with it being my dog's birthday, my twin sister just had her tonsils taken out, and guess who's going to be doing most, if not all, her work around the house? You guessed it. Oh, well, at least she made it through the surgery and is doing okay, considering the circumstances.**

**Anyway, here's the next one!**

…

013: Blood

…

She captured him not so long ago. She broke him not so long ago. She, in essence, killed him not so long ago.

Princess Azula sits now, and simply eyes him as he clutches the newest wound added to his body. This burn is just below his left pectoral muscle. The flesh around the area is yellow with puss. She could try to imagine how horribly it must be hurting him, but that would be stupid. She doesn't feel pain. She doesn't feel remorse.

He snorts in his small little cage, slowly looking up at his capturer with tear-filled blue eyes. My, how distasteful his face appears to her. He has a hideous burn on his chin that stretches down his neck. His forehead has an old scratch (compliment of Azula's cat claws) that his pink and practically healed, though still visible and ugly. His lip is split and bleeding. She could still try to imagine the kind of pain he is feeling, but that would be a waste of her energy.

She squats to his level and runs a surprisingly tender hand through his hair. Each short chocolate tress is terribly dry, almost brittle and ready to fall out.

Her eyes finally meet his. "Would you mind it if I asked you something, Water Tribesman?" she purrs, sliding a playful finger down his chin, feeling the hideous scar there beneath her skin.

He nods his head deliberately. He has no choice but to surrender and agree.

Rising quickly, the princess unlocks his cell and joins him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him upright.

"Come with me. There is something the two of us need to discuss."

…

She has him sit down in a tiny wooden chair inside a dim room with paint-chipped walls. He obeys, tentatively holding the arms of it as he parks himself. He wipes his brow. The walk here was difficult on his stiff legs. They too have suffered the wrath of the princess. His shorts were practically charred a long time ago. The skin on his left leg is beginning to heal, but the right one is still quite gruesome to look at. The most noticeable burn there extends to his heel.

Azula nods at the wound (it is apparently one of the newer ones she has inflicted on him), and asks conversationally, "Have the nurses been tending well to your wounds, Water Tribesman?"

"Yes, Princess," he answers weakly, coughing once, "though I wish you'd let your nurses bandage them up."

"You are undeserving of bandages. Only occupants of the Fire nation deserve them, those who have cooperated with me, at least." She diverts her gaze and wipes her hands on a cloth a servant offered her. Having held his wrist moments before, Sokka's blood had leaked onto her palms.

As soon as she finishes, she orders the servant out and barks, "Close the door on your way out. This is to be a private conversation."

"Yes, my Princess."

After the servant departs, she stares back at Sokka, who is again holding his palm over the wound over his rib.

"Well, Water Tribesman, I can offer dressings for your wounds, but you have to earn them."

"W–what do I have to do?" he asks her. After he coughs into his clenched right fist, he tentatively licks his bottom lip, removing some of the blood. The large split in the middle becomes more than evident as it again bleeds profusely.

"Why, you simply have to answer my questions. The Avatar is somewhere in the Fire Nation. He lived after my attacking him. Am I correct so far?"

Honestly, Sokka has no clue on earth as to what she was referring to. He had been captured before Aang had been attacked, but he had heard soon after the event that the Avatar had been hurt –badly.

"I honestly… don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you sure?" Azula asks him as she crosses her arms. "He did, as I am aware, considering his battle strategies, learn both water and earthbending. It seems only reasonable for him to enter the Fire Nation and find himself a teacher."

Sokka considers this. "Yeah… I suppose he'd be in the Fire Nation, but there's no one to teach him." He winces, barring his yellowed teeth.

"This is true. So, how did you plan to have the Avatar master all the elements when it is the Fire Nation he is to defeat? Was there another plan, Water Tribesman…?

"An _invasion…_ maybe…?"


	14. 014: Betrayal

**Author's Note: The slacker returns to the plate. I keep apologizing for my issues, but, hey, life is hectic.**

**To the story. No need to hold it off any longer. It's simple, of course. Boring too. But I'm rusty, quite rusty.**

…

014: Betrayal

…

The sound of the screaming hinges is terrible in Azula's ears, but, at last, she thinks, the Avatar has arrived. She has been sitting here since early morning, tapping impatient fingers across the arms of her throne chair and contemplating her methods. The door to the bunker itself slams past her; she gives it a nonchalant look before meeting eyes with the Avatar and his two allies. She remembers the both of them.

Standing, the tired princess crosses her arms, waiting for her enemies to comment on her presence. They say nothing, too dumbfounded by their own failures.

But it is not their fault, she realizes.

"War Minister Qin led you here, didn't he?" she asks, sternly frowning.

Angered now, the Water Tribesman steps forward. He points his black, specialty sword directly at Azula's forehead, and replies bitterly, "He must have. Tell us where the Firelord is. Now. We don't have any time to waste here with you."

Greeting his eyes with her own, Azula steps from her pedestal in a slow fashion. She reads his face. His expression is firm and demanding. His blue eyes are almost lovely, despite the irritation lingering within them.

"His quarters aren't too far from where we stand."

"We need a better answer than that," states the Avatar's other companion, the blind earthbender.

Eyes lowering, Azula responds, "It's just past this bunker." She turns and points. "That way. There's a stairway to the left of the path."

The Avatar, who has been silent, pulls back his glider, which was guarding his front. He leaves his defensive position, and sends a sympathetic look Azula's way. She reads it, instantly recognizing what he is about to ask her.

"Why are you helping us?"

"Is it wrong for me to help you?" she retorts suddenly, but her expression doesn't stiffen.

"This better not be a trap, Azula," the Water Tribe warrior growls.

"It isn't."

"Sokka," the Avatar asks, "how much time do we have before the eclipse ends?"

The one called Sokka pulls out some sort of device. Azula has seen such a thing before. The mechanist handling this invasion of theirs was once a provider of weapons for the Fire Nation.

"Five minutes at the very most," says Sokka, placing the device back into his pocket.

"My father is well-guarded. However, his guards are just as defenseless as he is. Any window of time is better than none."

"Sokka," the Avatar says again, "should we trust her? She's our only lead to the Firelord."

"I can tell you that she's not lying," the blind one affirms.

Azula nods and heads toward the exit. She faces her enemies, beckoning them to follow her. "Hurry," she warns, "your five minutes are almost up."

"Follow her then," Sokka mutters, huddling with his team, "but be prepared for anything. Toph, are you sure she's being honest?"

Toph looks the princess' way, her expression revealing nothing. She then bites her lip, and sighs, lowering her head again. "I never felt her heart rate accelerate. It's best that we follow her and do as she says. We need all the help we can get."

"You're right," answers Sokka. At once, the three of them disband. The princess waves her hand, beckoning them to follow. Obediently, she notices, they do.

In silence, the group reaches the stairway. The path below it is straight and it is easy to see that there is a door off to the left, just as Azula had promised.

"Go on ahead. It would be best for me to stay behind," she informs mirthlessly, crossing her arms. "I can't be of any assistance to you anyway."

With that, the Avatar steps down, never looking back at the princess. She eyes him stoically, but understands that he is focused on the task ahead. Swiftly, the blind girl trails him. Sokka, however, stays planted at the top of the steps, standing firmly next to Azula.

"Why did you help us?" he asks. It's the simplest question.

"I was… tired," Azula admits with a sigh, her face saddening as her tension mounts.

"Of what?"

"Of what he demands of me." She teases a strand of hair, coiling it around her long index finger. But as soon as she does, she flings it back.

Confused, Sokka urges her on. "What does he do to you?"

"Terrible things."

It is not long before the Water Tribe warrior grows testy with her. "If you're trying to gain my sympathy, you have –"

"What I speak is the truth."

"Then be more specific. You're wasting my time. Aang and Toph are in there alone, without me."

"And why do you think they need you? My dad's defeat is in the Avatar's hands. His and no one else's."

And with that, Sokka eases his anxiety, and grins shyly. "Perhaps you should take lesson from what you yourself have done."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We never would have found the Firelord without your help."

Shaking her head, Azula replies, "Your earthbending ally would have eventually led you to him."

"But not in time to defeat him before the eclipse's end."

"I suppose… but you should hurry on. I'll keep watch from out here, in case the war minister has followed us. His duty to Father was to divert you, and keep watch on me. It's only a matter of time before he discovers my treachery."

"All right." Sokka descends, his palm to the wall. Reaching the bottom, he extracts his sword, and turns in Azula's direction. He sends an appreciative nod her way, and is gone before she has a chance to react.


	15. 015: Courage

**Author's Note: A plain oneshot. Need I say more? Hopefully, with it being the winter season (in other words, the stuck-inside-your-house season), I'll be able to update more often.**

**This one bases off of '009: Foreign,' and follows the pre-parenthood story I have been working with in several of these drabbles/oneshots. You might find a hint of my inspiration in Zuko's life-altering conversation with Ozai on the day of the solar eclipse.**

**I wrote the end of this while very sleepy. So, if it is cruddy, tell me. I'll fix it up.**

…

015: Courage

…

"Do you know what you're going to say to him?" asks Sokka concernedly. His eyes are bloodshot after a night without sleep, but he was just too nervous to sleep much. He stands, and helps place a vest upon his wife.

"I think so," Azula replies. She too, is tired and anxious, but she is in a surprisingly better state than her husband. At least she is keeping a level head, despite all that she is about to face.

"He didn't approve of our marriage." Sokka slinks back on the bed, though it isn't on his agenda to nod off, not without knowing of his wife's safety. "Would you rather I go with you?"

Azula picks up a stray hairbrush and begins absently brushing out her knots, few as they are. After a moment, she answers, "No, that won't be necessary. His anger will not allow him a chance to act upon it. He is guarded. I'll be guarded."

"But what if something happens, and I'm not –"

She lifts her hand, silently ordering him to stop. "Nothing will happen," she informs at last.

"But what of our…"

"He's inside a cell." Azula places an affirmative hand over her stomach. "He can't bring any harm to our baby."

Sokka considers this momentarily. He runs a hand through his mop of a bed head, feeling over each and every knot. "But you'll be _inside _the cell with him, Azula."

"True, but you forget that the Avatar stripped him of his bending. I'd sooner send a bolt of lightning through his heart than allow him to hurt our child."

…

Alone, aside from, of course, the set of Imperial Guardsmen ordered to protect her, Azula mutters a quick prayer to Agni, something that she has been doing more frequently since her release. Finishing her request for wisdom and a clear head, she exhales, placing her hand to her abdomen, which is showing only the slightest signs of housing a child.

The warden of the prison wanders over from behind her. Being late in response to her being here, his expression turns quickly to fear, for he remembers her wrath, and the consequences behind it.

"Just open his cell," Azula orders. The warden's faces melts with relief. "And have the Imperial Firebenders removed. I don't need them listening in on my conversation with my father."

"Of course… your Highness."

He steps foreword, his hand fumbling in his pocket for the set of keys. With the metals beating against one another, jingling, he finally extracts the one to the former Firelord's cell. The door unlocks with a low click and opens on the rustiest of hinges.

Ozai makes no attempt to raise his head, but his eyes are quick to dart in the direction of his daughter. Once satisfied that Azula wants nothing more with him, the warden exits, barking an order to the guards. Their numerous footsteps descend as the door to the cell shuts behind the princess.

"You're still here, I see," Ozai notes, disappointed.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Azula retorts, her arms defensively crossing over her chest.

Ozai coughs a spell, and finally replies, "I prayed the spirits would lay a curse on you and your foreigner of a husband."

Azula chuckles, not at all daunted by her father's bluntness. "Well, Father, the spirits have redeemed me. And they have yet to do the same to you. Who will they hold in higher regard? Me, or you?"

"Don't mock me, Azula."

Grimacing and shaking her head, Azula answers, "Father, your legacy is for naught now. You do realize that, don't you?"

"I feel history will find a way to praise me for what I've done."

"And what _have _you done, Father? The Avatar has stripped you of your ability to bend; you have fallen into what the physicians of the prison have told me to be fits of insanity; and your children are now laboring to rebuild the world after you set out to destroy it."

Ozai rises from the floor, his face darkening as the shadows of the cell hit his skin. He snarls, clenches a tight, white-knuckled fist, and barks, "And does interracial marriage qualify as a step forward in rebuilding the world?"

To this, Azula does not answer; she retreats a step, her palm instinctively pressing against her stomach.

Ozai catches the gesture immediately. "And does being _pregnant_ with a foreigner's child qualify as such as well, Azula?" he asks her slyly.

Azula removes her hand slowly, quickly becoming furious at herself for being so openly defensive.

"You caught me," is her sullen reply.

"Is _this_ what you wanted to show me?"

Gloomily flipping a straying tress from her saddened face, Azula answers, "I thought you'd be delighted to know of your daughter's first pregnancy."

"Fool," Ozai mutters, grumbling. "I was unhappy with the idea of your marriage. Why would you think I'd be pleased to hear that outsider impregnated you?"

"Because," Azula starts, stammering slightly, "the proposal of my bearing children was one of your highest expectations."

"Bearing children with the suitor that I had assigned to you was my highest expectation, Azula."

The princess muses over the night she had met the man Ozai intended for her. She closes her eyes tightly, as if it would erase the memory. It does not.

"I didn't love him, Father."

Ozai retorts with a wicked laugh, "You didn't _love _the husband you have now in the past. And love is merely a weak component in marriage. You would have learned tolerance upon your wedding with the admiral's son."

Azula's eyes widen depressively, her eyebrows arching. Biting her lip, she dejectedly says, "Then, I suppose my present state of happiness means nothing to you, Father. If you don't want this grandchild, then I won't force it on you –"

"You should have been content to decline the outsider's advances. You should have refused to bed with him and consummate the marriage. And he himself should have respected tradition and left you when I ordered him to."

"Father, times have changed now. You act as if the nations are divided, but they're not anymore. In fact, the marriage between my husband and I was taken well with the people of the Fire Nation, as well as those in the Water Tribe. The world has overcome its racial barriers –and you still have yet to catch up. I no longer care how you perceive me. I am no longer that obedient puppet you molded –"

Ozai lunges at his daughter with fierce, wild, beastly eyes. He sends a tight fist at her somewhat swollen abdomen, only to be taken aback by sudden jolt.

He stares down at his chest, seeing Azula's fingers pressed there, lightning charging at their tips.

"If you make one more attempt to hurt this baby, Father, then…" Her teeth clench…

"Then what?" Ozai taunts, his lips forming into a demonic smile. "You'll slay me? My, my, that seems a bit dark for you now. You would choose this unborn mutt over your own father? I thought you loved me."

Azula retreats her fingers, and the lightning fades just above her pointed nails. A tiny trail of smoke wafts there, but quickly dies away. Briefly, the once-dejected princess glances back and forth between her father and her growing child, as if choosing between them. Choosing who she loves more.

"My child's safety and wellbeing come first, Father," she says finally, her insides aching with fear. "Your honor and respect second. It isn't up to you to decide what's best for me anymore."

Ozai scoffs and waves a hand. "Ha! You're just like your brother. A traitor to your nation. You have chosen your elemental opposite over your own nature, abandoned what made you prodigious in my eyes. How can I call you my daughter, and how can you expect me to call the babe inside you my grandchild?"

He falls silent, waiting, anticipating an adamant, persisting answer from the princess. Against his prediction, she turns, retreating to the door. Once out, she stares out at him and bows her head.

"Someday, Father, you'll figure that out on your own…"


	16. 016: Pride

**Author's Note: I really need to get back into the swing of writing. I just haven't had the time. And now that my dad just had major surgery to fuse his spine, I doubt I'll be writing much. So, here likely comes another hiatus.**

**This one is simple at a major-league degree. My writing has been nothing but lackluster. Plus I'm tired as heck today. I stupidly slept on the couch in my living room with two of my Chihuahuas sandwiched between me. You'd think because they're little dogs that they'd cause no problems, but you'd be wrong. My dogs are bed hogs.**

**Read on, then.**

…

016: Pride

…

The doctor's prodding hands are unnecessarily cold. The pale white skin on his fingertips feels frostbitten, and sting at the very touch. But the Fire Nation Princess knows not to flinch, for she has felt this nipping pain several times.

Her physician is the grave-type with a complimenting stoic face. The black whiskers on his visage are many. His eyes are small, beaded, brown little orbs that squint sternly. He appears only to find no happiness in his duty.

You'd never detect unhappiness in his voice, though. It is the jolly voice that lifts your spirits as soon as you hear it. It is the voice that does not fit the face.

The princess, once an unsympathetic person herself, feeds off this jovial tone. It makes the pains of this first pregnancy pass her by.

"So," the physician wonders, "you want my prediction on the gender of your child? Am I correct?"

"Yes. My husband has been begging me to get your prediction."

Azula's husband is Sokka, her sworn enemy once upon a time. The two had grown close after the war's end. After her redemption. The two happily married a while back and are eagerly awaiting the birth of their first child.

"Well, first off, the baby, as far as I can tell, feels healthy, though slightly smaller than I'd like it to be at this time. However, I don't think it will be much of a hurdle. Most firstborns are small. Don't worry about it. Are you actively feeling any movement?"

Twisting a band of hair through her fingertip, Azula replies with an almost exhausted but cheerful chuckle, "Oh, yes. This babe kicks a lot."

"That's good news, then. So, now, I'm going to ask you to stand up, so I can look at you."

The princess rises from her bed. The robe she is wearing is almost falling from her shoulders; she pulls it back up. She stands at a profile-view from her physician, her hands resting at her sides. She eyes his contemplating face, complete with a hand on his chin.

After muttering thoughts to himself, he, at last, states, "You're carrying low. That's a good sign that you're having a boy."

…

"Hey, did the doctor give you good news, Azula?" Sokka asks later in the day. His morning was spent at some extensive meetings Firelord Zuko had assembled; he is lucky now to spend some quality time with his wife in their bedroom.

"The physician says I'm progressing fine. He says the baby will probably be born in three months or so. It's a little on the small side, but he tells me that's normal."

"Oh, okay. Good," Sokka replies with a yawn. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some sleep I need to catch up on." He stretches and prepares for a noon snooze, resting his head against his feathered pillow. Now reclined, he folds his fingers across his abdomen, and closes his eyes.

Azula clears her throat. "Don't you have something to ask me?"

The Water Tribesman confusedly blinks several times. He utters a weak, nervous laugh before saying, "Do I?"

"Um, something about the gender of our child?"

This perks him up in an instant. _So much for his nap. _His now wide blues eyes burn into her gold ones, eagerly awaiting her answer. She gives him a curious grin in return, silently beckoning him to ask the question himself.

"What is it?" he asks at last, fists clenching. "Tell me!"

"Okay, the doctor says I'm carrying low."

"What's that mean?"

Princess Azula rolls her amber eyes. "It _means_ you were right."

Sokka replies, "Right, as in we're having a boy?"

Azula opens her mouth, but is tugged into a warm embrace before she even has the chance to say a word.


	17. 017: Lust

**Author's Note: I'm finally continuing my Sokkla100 after nine months! Man, I'm a slacker, but, whatever! Of course, now I'm battling carpal tunnel and De Quervain's tendinitis in both hands, so I really shouldn't be typing period. Yet, here I am, challenging doctor's orders, just to appeal to the few people that like my writing!**

**M-rated chapter! Lemons, ahoy! I don't blatantly write lemon fics, but it had to happen with this prompt! It has a bad, abrupt ending too, but oh, well…**

**Oh, to all those who like my old 2009 piece, 'Beautiful Dawn,' I'm working on a rewrite of it, and, sadly, it has no reviews! Please wander on over and review what I have of the prologue! I could use the encouragement!**

…

017: Lust

…

The piercing sound of a knife leaving its sheath echoes down the winding stone corridor outside the princess' Boiling Rock prison cell. She jumps at its suddenness, leaving the cold corner she was resting at. Clashing blades reach her eardrums now as she presses her head to the wall and listens intently. Voices too, add to the commotion, but in an instant, an elongated, gurgling scream stops everything.

The rapid end of the uproar causes Azula to withdraw from her position. She crawls to the adjacent wall and sits, her eyelids falling from utter tiredness, and waits to see if the guards outside will send her reason for the tumult.

Her main cell door clicks, and opens wide on rusty hinges. A scratched but otherwise undefeated man in a blue coat walks into the square chamber. He sends Azula a salutatory nod under the shadow of his hood. Gold keys from the warden's belt jingle at his hands as he finds the one that is designated to the princess. Inserting it into the lock, he turns it without a word until it finally rattles the bars that hold Azula in.

Stepping forward, he pulls his hood off, and fixes it at his neck.

"Do you remember me?" he asks stoically, and places a firm hand at his chest.

Azula, alarmed, does not answer, but a bitter scowl she sends at her visitor tells him that she knows very well who he is. Her heated amber eyes meet his cerulean ones.

"I remember you, too," says the man, "and every crime you committed outside these walls. Attempted murder, the abuse of my friends, lying –the list goes on and on."

"You killed someone," Azula unexpectedly blurts. "I heard you, and, yet, you won't be imprisoned for it, I'm sure."

The man unsheathes his sword, the blade black and of a rare material. Fresh crimson blotches of blood taint its sharp tip.

"You're probably right," he admits, sighing and placing the sword back at his hip. "I did you a favor, though."

"Who did you kill?" Azula barks ungraciously, duly ignoring her visitor's previous comment. "Who?"

The man waves the set of keys he _borrowed _from the warden, silently stating, in a matter-of-fact way, his answer, but remarks then, "He was an easy kill, but stubborn and bull-headed. He wouldn't let me visit you, and, in doing so, tempted his death."

Azula's mouth opens. "You killed the warden," she replies with astonishment to the fact, "just to visit me?"

The man hurriedly sets the warden's keys into his coat pocket. "Yes. I knew how much he hated you, so I took his life."

"But Zuko placed me here… Placed him in control of me. He –"

"Stop." The man lifts a hand, beckoning her to quit talking. "I took the warden's life because of his treatment of you, and because of Firelord Zuko's blatant disregard of it."

The princess' eyes swell as she answers, "Zuko allowed him to abuse me?"

"Basically," he responds as he crouches to her level inside the cell. "Even after promising the nation he rules that he would let no cruelty go unpunished."

Azula scoffs, though she is still quite distressed by what she has learned about her brother. "Wonderful," she says quickly. "He is a liar, just like me."

"I don't think you're a liar. Anymore."

"What?" she asks.

The bluecoat shrugs his shoulders. "The psychologists that run the asylum send weekly messenger hawk reports on your progress, and I've been studying them. They say your temper has quelled and your eagerness to deceive is gone."

"You've been reading my medical reports?" she exclaims. "They're private!"

"No, really, they're not. Zuko publicized your records, but to maintain his status with the warden, he divulged only minimal improvement from you. You should be glad I know the truth –I'm going to get it out there soon."

The princess' mouth opens, but nothing comes forth from her lips. She is stunned at this man's brazen acts to protect her. She always assumed he was loyal to the Firelord, given the fact that they joined forces all those years ago to defeat Phoenix King Ozai, her father. But, musing on it now, she believes that perhaps there was dissension between them when matters of state arose. When the topics strayed from the world to the internal affair that was her prison sentence, they became bitter enemies, but she has no way of knowing for sure.

She asks him, "Do you hate Zuko for doing this to me?"

"Well," he says with a tilt of his head, "I cannot say I hate Zuko; I just don't support where his values lie. Honestly speaking, who would throw their sibling in a dump and use her…" He pauses, trying to find a way to explain this without hurting her, "former state of illness to boost himself in the eyes of the public?"

Azula considers this, and immediately finds herself smiling warmly, finding it rather lifting that a former enemy of hers would admit to supporting her cause without fear of retribution.

A twinge flutters at her heart, and it plays at her thoughts.

"Are you in love with me?" she inquires out of the blue.

"What?"

"Are you?" Her swollen eyes pour into his.

The man, letting his astonishment stay behind him, gives a courteous smile to her question, and says, "I care for you –is that the same as love?"

No response leaves her mouth as she bends and joins lips with him. At the meeting, the man slides his hand up her leg, stopping at the string which holds her prison pants up at her boney hips. He loosens the knot, and the faded red garment falls to her ankles as she begins to play at the coat he is wearing. She pries it from his shoulders and it crumbles to the ground with a muffled thump. They kiss again feverishly, their tongues brushing against one another. The two of them each peel their shirts from their backs, revealing equally bare chests between them. The man teases at her breasts with his callous thumbs while she works at his pants. Made of a thick animal material, she tugs at them with an effortful force, but they descend to his ankles soon enough.

Azula's amber eyes wander seductively to the bulge in her visitor's undergarment. She grins as she touches him there, lighting his fuse. Moaning audibly, he slips her panties from her legs, pulls his member from his underwear, and quickly enters her.

"Yes," Azula finally answers his question as he thrusts and passionately kisses her neck, "it is the same."


	18. 018: Envy

**Author's Note: The last time I published a drabble for this series here was on November 2****nd****, 2011, which was actually my third anniversary as a member of FFN! So, doing the math, that's a span of over a year and a half since this series has seen any activity! I hope this addition edges this whole collection back into being popular again. I do thank every person who has taken the time to read, review, fave, and subscribe within the span of my absence. I appreciate it all!**

…

018: Envy

…

Upon the night the very first full moon since their marriage rises and comes into view outside their bedroom window, he cannot will himself to touch her, cannot bear the sensation of kissing her. He simply stares out at that full orb, arms propped against the windowsill. His position is so stiff that even under the heavy moonlight, he appears lifeless, as if this fixation has sucked all the life out of him and has left him still.

She wishes he would say something, but all she receives finally is a drawn out sigh, somber and slow before his head falls between his propped arms in defeat. Reaching her hand, she caresses his shoulder and gives it a squeeze, letting him know she is here and willing to comfort him. But he shakes the gesture off like an animal compelled to remove a flea: with some sort of irritation at the raw level of discomfort her hand possesses by being there. This disheartens her, and sends her slinking back against her mound of pillows.

_It's just the moon, _she thinks with such naivety that even she herself is unconvinced. What spirit could so possess a man to such a state of depression? _He likes jokes, _she muses to herself. _Make him laugh and he'll be sure to make amends._

"I never knew the Moon Spirit despised sex," she attempts, chuckling, "considering the symbolism of it. Push and pull…"

This suddenly stirs him. He lifts his head from the cocoon of his arms and lunges off the windowsill, thrusting himself just inches from her face, his eyes bloodshot and enraged. She jerks her head as far back as she can into her pillows, afraid he is going to slap her for making fun of his precious Moon Spirit. Thankfully, the absolution never comes to her, and he barks, "Don't you dare insult Yue like that!"

She is stunned by this abrupt outburst. She could not have presumed him to be so passionate about the moon, considering that, given his lack of bending skill, it does not enrich him the way it enriches, say, his sister.

"I'm sorry," she says, guilt apparent in her voice. "I shouldn't have said what I said."

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

This is the first time she has ever heard him curse. A typically light and jovial man, this dark tone strikes her as totally forced, but there just the same, brooding between them like an unwanted guest listening in.

"I'm sorry." He directs this apology to the moon instead of her, and any remorse he wants to convey is lost entirely. He then presses a hand against the window, and when he removes it the print of it lingers. Where she sits she sees that it perfectly fills the mound of the moon's reflection outside. His hand on the moon, his desire to touch it instead of touching her… It makes her envious that he would so boldly exude this degree of longing for this _object _instead of her, his wife.

"Do you even love me anymore?" she blurts, trembling and teetering on the edge of crying. "What did I do? Please, tell me what I did. I made a joke, and, and I take it back. Please, just tell me what I –"

"Stop." He gestures with his hand, and she is silent. A tear slips down the contour of her slender cheekbone: a scintillating beam under the moonlight. Seeing it there on the verge of falling, he takes his palm to her face and captures it, wiping it away. "I owe you an explanation."

And right there atop their bed, he leaks the story of his first love whom the moon had blessed with life upon the day she was born. As he tells this tale, she can sense his lingering admiration for this woman, a woman to which she can place no face. She finds it easy to imagine that he had love interests before she came along, but cannot will herself to believe that there was one that took such credence over the very path of his life after she…

"And then," he exhales in a way comparable to the last breath of life, "the spirit left her and she died, fell heavy into my arms…"

…After she died. This woman had died. Died, in a sense, for him. In order to give him –and all the world –a chance at happiness and balance, this Yue woman withdrew her life. What nobility, what courage, courage she is all too sure she herself does not have. She swears to herself now that she cannot possibly remain envious of the moon, or the spirit habiting its very form, because she too, was saved by this woman. Had it not been for Yue's actions, the man she now calls her husband would not be here tonight, sliding her into his embrace and whispering about how much he loves her despite the pains he still feels from his past.

"I guess I still love Yue," he admits at last, stroking her beautiful hair between his fingertips and slowly parting her robe from her shoulders, "even after all this time. But I love you too, Azula. Don't ever let me doubt that, even for a second. Bring me back when you see me slipping, because now that Yue's gone, _you _are the one keeping me attached to the world."


End file.
